


Beginnings

by Jenwryn



Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe, Multi, Romance, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-02
Updated: 2009-05-02
Packaged: 2017-10-02 08:48:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenwryn/pseuds/Jenwryn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is no sunlight in Hueco Mondo, but she's grown used to that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> Orihime is an adult; AU is my friend.
> 
> And oh dear, oh dear, I seem to have developed a fixation with Orhime-in-bed-in-Hueco-Mondo-fic. I shall have to try and break the mould the next time I write her. Or, uh, something...

There is no sunlight in Hueco Mondo, but the woman has grown accustomed to its absence. Waking, sleeping, eating, making love - the rhythms of her life move according to her own desires, in this silent world of sand and endless distance, and existence seems eternal, without the golden orb rising and falling to mark her age. She learns and she talks and sometimes she spars; and there_ is_ sleeping, and waking, and eating.

And making love.

Orihime has a private theory that this world is the origin of all others: from the darkness comes the light. Not that it really matters, in the scheme of things. She sits now, and runs her fingers through her hair, which has tangled itself up after coming half-loose from the braid she'd wound it into. She releases it completely from its bind, letting it fall around her shoulders, and then turns her face to the light that slides in through the window. Not sunlight, no, but light nevertheless; sometimes she thinks of it as a glow, more than anything else. There are clouds passing restlessly beyond the window, and the shadows cast by them pass equally as restlessly across her skin and the crumpled, pale sheets she sits amongst. There are no bars on the window. There haven't been bars for quite some time. Years, she supposes, although she couldn't say exactly, unless she spent more than a mere moment's thought upon the matter; she has no wish to. Simply, there are no bars, and the moonlight is spilling calm and milky upon the contours of her bare body, and upon the bodies of the two in the bed beside her.

The two. The pair. The both of them.

There may as well only be the three of them left in Las Noches; certainly, there are only the three of them who matter to her. A human woman, who perhaps is no longer quite human - she isn't sure, some days; she toys with the idea in the quiet of her mind - and two Espada. Two Vasto Lordes, really, seeing as the Espada belonged to Aizen, and Aizen is long gone. Only the dark inked lines of Ulquiorra's four, still stark upon his chest in the white-light - and the six, currently hidden beneath the sheets (Grimmjow sleeps like a child, curled in upon himself, one hand at his mouth and the other buried somewhere beneath Orihime's pillow) - are left to remind her that they had ever been. Oh, there are still hollows, and gillian, and other arrancar, and sometimes Neliel comes to visit. But Orihime does not bother the most of them, and so they do not bother her and, either way, her powers keep them cautious and out of sight, regardless of the fact that _she_ knows she could never hurt them. Elsewhere there are other Vasto Lordes, like Neliel herself - that is the nature of this world - but, long ago, Orihime has come to accept that they are also part of the grand scheme of things, part of how the universe dances its slow dance. Death is necessary for life to flourish. Death is a form of life itself. She wonders, wonders, wonders, though, about the order it came in. Which was the first. Which was the last. Who can truly claim to be the origin of it all. Either way, there must be hollows. It is right so. The moonlight confirms it.

This, here, now, the white glow on her skin - this is part of that equilibrium, or something very kindred to it. These two men, one on either side of her. She thinks of them as men, though she doesn't call them that to their faces, because, although they are arrancar they are also, to all intentions purposes, men. They fight and quarrel and protect and sulk like men do. Ulquiorra is fierce and silence and resolved like a man. Grimmjow is fierce and bright and wild like a man. They hold her like men, their bodies warm and hard and wanting, as they make love to her, or fuck her, or let her fuck them, depending on the mood or the hour or how long it has been.

She loves them, as if they were men.

She had never really thought of herself as this kind of woman. But the childish need which she had felt for protection - that which she had misinterpreted as infatuation for Kurosaki-kun - is made whole, here between the two of them. And they have been her beginning, the seed of discovery in her own mind - they have let her, have freed her, have seduced her into finding strength in her own self. Her path lies not with the shinigami. It doesn't even lie with the arrancar, per se. It lies with _herself._

That is what they have taught her.

Against their better judgements, despite their own denials and rough antagonisms, right from the beginning; that is what they had begun to teach her, the moment they had laid eyes upon her.

"Hime," mumbles Grimmjow, turning his head and looking up at her with eyes with half-closed through sleep and bruises, from where he'd sparring earlier. His hand shifts away from his mouth, to rub circles against her thigh. "Sleep..."

She smiles and slides back between the sheets, curls herself back into his arms, which wrap automatically around her, warm and tight. He rests his chin upon her head and the pair of them watch Ulquiorra, where he lays, a little apart, as is his habit, growing restless and soon to wake. He doesn't need sleep the way that Orihime does, and isn't overly fond of it the way that Grimmjow has become, but he looks beautiful when he actually closes his eyes and gives into the activity. Orhime looks her fill of Ulquiorra, and then turns in Grimmjow's embrace and breathes in the scent of him, while he walks sleepy, shameless fingers all over her in slow, soothing motions.

When she sinks back into sleep, it is with a small, contented sigh.

Ulquiorra's eyes open at the tiny sound, and they meet Grimmjow's in the moonlight. They don't speak, the two of them, because they don't want to wake her, but knowledge is exchanged anyway. Ulquiorra shifts a little closer, his hand seeking out the tips of Orihime's hair and brushing against them. He doesn't protest when Grimmjow reaches out, and runs a thumb along his jaw, just studies him for a second, then leans into the touch.

Orihime Inoue has taught them both, as well.

Besides, to them, _she _was the beginning.


End file.
